THE HURRICANE. LORD of the winds! I feel thee nigh, I know thy breath in the burning sky! And I wait, with a thrill in every vein, For the coming of the hurricane! And lo! on the wing of the heavy gales, Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails; Silent and slow, and terribly strong, The mighty shadow is borne along, Like the dark eternity to come; While the world below, dismayed and dumb, Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear. They darken fast; and the golden blaze Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze, A glare that is neither night nor day, A beam that touches, with hues of death, The clouds above and the earth beneath. R To its covert glides the silent bird, While the hurricane's distant voice is heard, Uplifted among the mountains round, And the forests hear and answer the sound. He is come! he is come! do ye not behold How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale; And fold at length, in their dark embrace, Darker-still darker! the whirlwinds bear The dust of the plains to the middle air: As the fire-bolts leap to the world below, What roar is that?-'tis the rain that breaks In torrents away from the airy lakes, Ah! well known woods, and mountains, and skies, Of the crystal heaven, and buries all. WILLIAM TELL. A SONNET. CHAINS may subdue the feeble spirit, but thee, That creed is written on the untrampled snow, Thundered by torrents which no power can hold, Save that of God, when he sends forth his cold, And breathed by winds that through the free heaven blow. Thou, while thy prison walls were dark around, Didst meditate the lesson Nature taught, And to thy brief captivity was brought A vision of thy Switzerland unbound. The bitter cup they mingled, strengthened thee THE HUNTER'S SERENADE. THY bower is finished, fairest! Fit bower for hunter's brideWhere old woods overshadow The green savanna's side. I've wandered long, and wandered far, And never have I met, In all this lovely western land, A spot so lovely yet. But I shall think it fairer, When thou art come to bless, With thy sweet smile and silver voice, Its silent loveliness. For thee the wild grape glistens, On sunny knoll and tree, The slim papaya ripens Its yellow fruit for thee. For thee the duck, on glassy stream, |