That, soon as loosed, booms with full twang away,—

The sudden rushing of the minnow shoal,

Scared from the shallows by my passing tread.
Dimpling the water glides, with here and there
A glossy fly, 'skimming in circlets gay

The treacherous surface, while the quick-eyed trout
Watches his time to spring; or, from above,
Some feathered dam, purveying 'midst the boughs,
Darts from her perch, and to her plumeless brood
Bears off the prize :-sad emblem of man's lot!
He, giddy insect, from his native leaf,

(Where safe and happily he might have lurked),
Elate upon ambition's gaudy wings,

Forgetful of his origin, and, worse,

Unthinking of his end, flies to the stream;
And if from hostile vigilance he 'scape,
Buoyant he flutters but a little while,

Mistakes the inverted image of the sky

For heaven itself, and sinking meets his fate.

Ε

Now let me trace the stream up to its source

Among the hills; its runnel by degrees

Diminishing, the murmur turns a tinkle.

Closer and closer still the banks approach,
Tangled so thick with pleaching bramble shoots,

With brier, and hazel branch, and hawthorn spray,
That, fain to quit the dingle, glad I mount
Into the open air: Grateful the breeze

That fans my throbbing temples! smiles the plain
Spread wide below: how sweet the placid view!
But O! more sweet the thought, heart-soothing thought,
That thousands and ten thousands of the sons

Of toil, partake this day the common joy
Of rest, of peace, of viewing hill and dale,

Of breathing in the silence of the woods,
And blessing him who gave the Sabbath day.

Yes, my heart flutters with a freer throb,

To think that now the townsman wanders forth
Among the fields and meadows, to enjoy

The coolness of the day's decline; to see
His children sport around, and simply pull
The flower and weed promiscuous, as a boon,
Which proudly in his breast they smiling fix.

Again I turn me to the hill, and trace The wizard stream, now scarce to be discerned; Woodless its banks, but green with ferny leaves, And thinly strewed with heath-bells up and down.

Now, when the downward sun has left the glens,
Each mountain's rugged lineaments are traced
Upon the adverse slope, where stalks gigantic
The shepherd's shadow thrown athwart the chasm,
As on the topmost ridge he homeward hies.

How deep the hush! the torrent's channel, dry,
Presents a stony steep, the echo's haunt.

But hark, a plaintive sound floating along!
"Tis from yon heath-roofed shielin; now it dies

Away, now rises full; it is the song

Which He, who listens to the halleluiahs

Of choiring Seraphim,-delights to hear;
It is the music of the heart, the voice
Of venerable age,-of guileless youth,

In kindly circle seated on the ground
Before their wicker door: Behold the man!
The grandsire and the saint; his silvery locks
Beam in the parting ray; before him lies
Upon the smooth-cropt sward, the open book,
His comfort, stay, and ever new delight!
While heedless at his side, the lisping boy

Fondles the lamb that nightly shares his couch.

AN

AUTUMN SABBATH WALK.

WHEN homeward bands their several ways disperse,

I love to linger in the narrow field

Of rest; to wander round from tomb to tomb,
And think of some who silent sleep below.

Sad sighs the wind, that from those ancient elms

Shakes showers of leaves upon the withered

grass:

The sere and yellow wreaths, with eddying sweep,
Fill up
the furrows 'tween the hillocked graves.
But list that moan! 'tis the poor blind man's dog,
His guide for many a day, now come to mourn
The master and the friend-conjunction rare!