While there divinely dreaming

Of fairies, fays, and flowers,

And still in fancy seeming

To revel in those bowersFair Poesy espied her,

And, taking up her Lyre, Seated herself beside her,

And touched the trembling wire.

Startled, but not affrighted,

She swept the Lyre again,

Till every cord delighted

Breathed out its sweetest strain : And while those strains were dying

In echo's faintest tone,

'I would,' she said, deep sighing, 'This Lyre were all my own.'

Music just then awaking,

Replied with gentle mien,
There can be no mistaking,

Your right to it, fair queen!
For she who can so sweetly
'Inform each breathing wire,

Is named and crowned most meetly
The Mistress of the Lyre.'

LYRIC POETRY.

97

Fair Poesy, deep blushing,

Gave music back the toy,

While through her heart was rushing
A pure unwonted joy-

'Nay, lovely sister! hear me,

'With me do thou abide, 'Forever one and near me, 'My throne thou shalt divide.

'When from their breathing slumbers 'Thou pour'st sweet strains along, I'll catch the airy numbers,

'And weave them into song.

'I'll cull fair flowers, and warm them

'With spirit from above,

'And thou shalt all inform them

'With melody and love.'

Thus formed, this fond alliance
Was never after broke ;
Since then, in sweet compliance,
The two as one have spoke ;
And thence the lyric measures
In graceful numbers flow,
Giving new zest to pleasure,
And gently soothing wo.

THE INFANT SAMUEL.

BY EPHRAIM PEABODY.

"Then Samuel answered, speak Lord; for thy servant heareth."

IN childhood's spring,-ah! blessed spring!
As flowers closed up at even
Unfold in morning's earliest beam,
The heart unfolds to heaven.
Ah! blessed child, that trustingly
Adores and love and fears,

And to a Father's voice replies,

'Speak Lord, thy servant hears.'

When youth shall come,-ah! blessed youth!

If still the pure heart glows,

And in the world and word of God,

Its Maker's language knows ;

THE INFANT SAMUEL.

If in the night and in the day,

Midst youthful joys or fears,

The trusting heart can answer still 'Speak Lord, thy servant hears.'

When

age shall come,-ah ! blessed

If in its lengthening shade,

age !

When life grows faint and earthly lights

Recede and sink and fade,

Ah, blessed age! if then heaven's light

Dawn on the closing eye,

And Faith unto the call of God

Can answer,' Here am I.'

99

APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN.

BY CHARLES H. BROWN.

HALE, dark old ocean! wild and loud
Thy plangent billows roar,
Tossed by the tempest's raging might
Far on the surf-bound shore.
Hail! thou, whose ceaseless rage began
When earth from chaos sprung,

And through the heavens' re-echoing vaults
Celestial music rung.

Thou art the same mysterious sea,

As when, long ages past, The silent moon first on thy tide

Its golden radiance cast.

The eternal hills, the rocks and caves

Proclaim thy deeds of old,

When o'er this sin-devoted world

Thy mighty deluge rolled.