The hills, the vales, the waters burn

With Ids enkindling rays,
No sooner touch'd than they return

A tributary blaze.

His quickening light on me descends,
His cheering warmth I own;

Upward to him my spirit tends,
But worships God alone.

O that on me, with beams benign,
His countenance would turn!

1 too should then arise and shine,—
Arise, and shine, and burn!

Slowly I raise my languid head;

Pain and soul-sickness cease, The phantoms of dismay are fled,

And health returns, and peace.

Where is the beauty of the scene,
Which silent night display'd?

The clouds, the stars, the blue serene,
The moving light and shade?

All gone!—the moon, erewhile so bright,

Veil'd with a dusky shroud,
Seems, in the sun's o'erpowering light,

The fragment of a cloud.

Montgomery's Poems.

At length, I reach my journey's end j
Welcome that well-known face!

I meet a brother and a friend;
I find a resting-place.

Just such a pilgrimage is life;

Hurried from stage to stage,
Our wishes with our lot at strife,

Through childhood to old age.

The world is seldom what it seems ;—

To man, who dimly sees,
Realities appear as dreams,

And dreams realities.

The Christian's years, so slow theii flight,

When he is call'd away;
Are but the watches of a night,

And Death the dawn of day.

THE REIGN OP SPRING.

Who loves not Spring's voluptuous hours,
The carnival of birds and flowers?
Yet who would choose, however dear,
That Spring should revel all the year 1—
Who loves not Summer's splendid reign,
The bridal of the earth and main 1
Yet who would choose, however bright,
A Dog-day noon without a night ?—
Who loves not Autumn's joyous round,
When corn, and wine, and oil abound?
Yet who would choose, however gay,
A year of unrenew'd decay ?—
Who loves not Winter's awful form;
The sphere-born music of the storm'.'

Yet who would choose, how grand so ever.
The shortest day to last for ever?
'Twas in that age renown'd, remote,
When all was true that Esop wrote;
And in that land of fair Ideal,
Where all that poets dream is real:
Upon a day of aunual state,
The Seasons met in high debate.
There blush'd young Spring in maiden pride,
Blithe Summer look'd a gorgeous bride,
Staid Autumn, moved with matron grace,
And beldame Winter pinned her face.
Dispute grew wild; all talk'd together;
The four at once made wondrous weather;
Nor one (whate'er the rest had shown)
Heard any reason but her own,
While each (for nothing else was clear)
Claim'd the whole circle of the year.

Spring, in possession of the field,
Compell'd her sisters soon to yield;
They part,— resolved elsewhere to try
A twelvemonth's empire of the sky;
And calling off their airy legions,
Alighted in adjacent regions.
Spring o'er the eastern champaign smiled,
Fell Winter ruled the northern wild;
Summer pursued the sun's red car,
But Autumn loved the twilight star.

As Spring parades her new domain,
Love, Beauty, Pleasure, hold her train;
Her footsteps wake the flowers beneath,
That start, and blush, and sweetly breathe;
Her gales on nimble pinions rove,
And shake to foliage every grove;
Her voice, in dell and thicket heard,
Cheers on the nest the mother-bird;
The ice-lock'd streams, as if they felt
Her touch, to liquid diamond melt;

The lambs around her bleat and play;
The serpent flings his slough away,
And shines in orient colours dight,
A flexile ray of living light,
Nature unbinds her wintry shroud,
(As the soft sunshine melts the cloud,)
With infant gambols sports along,
Bounds into youtb, and soars in song.
The morn impearls her locks with dew;
Noon spreads a sky of boundless blue;
The rainbow spans the evening scene,
The night is silent and serene,
Save when her lonely minstrel wrings
The heart with sweetness, while he sings.
Who would not wish, unrivall'd here,
That Spring might frolic all the year?

Three months are fled, and still she reigns,
Exulting queen o'er hills and plains;
The birds renew their nuptial vow,
Nestlings themselves are lovers now;
Fresh broods each bending bough receives,
Till feathers far outnumber leaves;
But kites in circles swim the air,
And sadden music to despair.
The stagnant pools, the quaking bogs,
Teem, croak, and crawl with hordes of frogs;
The matted woods, the infected earth,
Are venomous with reptile birth;
Armies of locusts cloud the skies;
With beetles hornets, gnats with flies,
Interminable warfare wage,
And madden heaven with insect-rage,

The flowers are wither'd;—sun nor dew
Their fallen glories shall renew;
The flowers are wither'd;—germ nor seed