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While Desdemona, beauteous as of yore,
A FOREST WALK.
BY ALFRED B. STREET.
A LOVELY sky, a cloudless sun,
A wind that breathes of leaves and flowers, O’er hill, through dale, my steps have won,
To the cool forest's shadowy bowers; One of the paths all round that wind,
Traced by the browsing herds, I choose,
In nature's lone recesses lose ;
The spruce its green tent stretches wide,
The maple's scallop'd dome beside :
Sweet forest-odours have their birth
A thick, elastic carpet spread ;
Here, with its mossy pall, the tru
By some fierce whirlwind circling past, Its huge roots mass'd with earth and stone,
One of the woodland kings is cast.
Above, the forest tops are bright
The screening branches, and a glow
Down the dark stems, and breaks below; The mingled shadows off are roll’d, The sylvan floor is bathed in gold : Low sprouts and herbs, before unseen, Display their shades of brown and green: Tints brighten o'er the velvet moss, Gleams twinkle on the laureľ's gloss ; The robin, brooding in her nest. Chirps as the quick ray strikes her breast; And, as my shadow prints the ground, I see the rabbit upward bound, With pointed ears an instant look, Then scamper to the darkest nook,
Where, with crouch'd limb, and staring eye, 7. He watches while I saunter by.
A narrow vista, carpeted
Here showers the light in golden dots,
Afar has sounded on my ear,
Whirrs to the sheltering branches near ; The little milk-snake glides away, The brindled marmot dives from day ; And now, between the boughs, a space Of the blue, laughing sky I trace : On each side shrinks the bowery shade; before me spreads an emerald glade ; The sunshine steeps its grass and moss, That couch my footsteps as I cross; Merrily hums the tawny bee, The glittering humming-bird I see; Floats the bright butterfly along, The insect choir is loud in song : A spot of light and life, it seems A fairy haunt for fancy dreams. Here stretch'd, the pleasant turf I press, In luxury of idleness; Sun-streaks, and glancing-wings, and sky, Spotted with cloud-shapes, charm my eye: While murmuring grass, and waving trees, Their leaf-harps sounding to the breeze,
And water-tones that tinkle near,
THE SEA-IN CALM.
BY BARRY CORNWALL.
Look what immortal floods the sunset pours Upon us !—Mark! how still (as though in
dreams Bound) the once wild and terrible Ocean seems! How silent are the winds! No billow roars : But all is tranquil as Elysian shores !
The silver margin which aye runneth round
The moon-enchanted sea, hath here no sound: Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors !
What! is the giant of the ocean dead,
the sun ?
Now his toils are done, More quiet than the babbling brooks is he. So mightiest powers by deepest calms are fed,
And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be.