THE SUNBEAM.

THOU art no lingerer in monarch's hall,
A joy thou art, and a wealth to all!

A bearer of hope unto land and sea-
Sunbeam! what gift hath the world like thee?

Thou art walking the billows, and ocean smiles--Thou hast touch'd with glory his thousand isles; Thou hast lit up the ships, and the feathery foam, And gladden'd the sailor, like words from home.

To the solemn depths of the forest shades,

Thou art streaming on thro' their green arcades, And the quivering leaves that have caught thy glow,

Like fire-flies glance to the pools below.

I look'd on the mountains-a vapour lay
Folding their heights in its dark array:
Thou brakest forth-and the mist became
A crown and a mantle of living flame.

I look'd on the peasant's lowly cot--
Something of sadness had wrapt the spot ;-
But a gleam of thee on its lattice fell,
And it laugh'd into beauty at that bright spell.

To the earth's wild places a guest thou art,
Flushing the waste like the rose's heart;
And thou scornest not from thy pomp to shed
A tender smile on the ruin's head.

Thou tak'st thro' the dim church-aisle thy way, And its pillars from twilight flash forth to day, And its high pale tombs, with their trophies old, Are bath'd in a flood as of molten gold.

And thou turnest not from the humblest grave, Where a flower to the sighing winds may wave; Thou scatterest its gloom like the dreams of rest, Thou sleepest in love on its grassy breast.

Sunbeam of summer! oh! what is like thee?
Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea!—
One thing is like thee to mortals given,

The faith touching all things with hues of Heaven!

BREATHINGS OF SPRING.

Thou giv'st me flowers, thou giv'st me songs ;-bring back
The love that I have lost!

WHAT Wak'st thou, Spring?-sweet voices in the woods, And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute ; Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes,

The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute, Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee, Ev'n as our hearts may be.

And the leaves greet thee, Spring!-the joyous leaves, Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and glade, Where each young spray a rosy flush receives,

When thy south-wind hath pierc'd the whispery shade, And happy murmurs, running thro' the grass,

Tell that thy footsteps pass.

And the bright waters-they too hear thy call,

Spring, the awakener! thou hast burst their sleep! Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall

Makes melody, and in the forests deep, Where sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray Their windings to the day.

And flowers—the fairy-peopled world of flowers!
Thou from the dust hast set that glory free,
Colouring the cowslip with the sunny hours,

And pencilling the wood-anemone ;
Silent they seem-yet each to thoughtful eye
Glows with mute poesy.

But what awak'st thou in the heart, O, Spring! The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs? Thou that giv'st back so many a buried thing,

Restorer of forgotten harmonies!

Fresh songs and scents break forth where'er thou art, What wak'st thou in the heart?